


The Eve of All Hallows

by mrs_timmings



Category: Puck of Pook's Hill Series - Rudyard Kipling
Genre: Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:39:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_timmings/pseuds/mrs_timmings
Summary: Dan and Una pick berries and encounter a magical being.





	The Eve of All Hallows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greerwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/gifts).



> **Request:**  
>  I'd like a seasonal story. Perhaps local harvest customs; or an autumn event in history that Puck brings someone to tell the children about. Or Guy Fawkes' Day: by the time Kipling wrote Puck of Pook's Hill, the south of England had pretty well abandoned Halloween for Guy Fawkes' Day. What's Puck's reaction to changing customs? Feel free to use other characters from the book(s). I don't like anything more than PG-13: explicit sexual detail is definitely a DNW for me. DNW the death of any of the canonical characters in the story.
> 
>  **Author's Note:**  
>  1\. A Phooka is a Celtic fairy associated with the harvest that can appear as a human but is normally animal shaped, generally benevolent, but normally hungry and mischievous. Traditionally it was left a small part of the harvest to placate it. Folklore has it that it spits on blackberries on 1st November which turns them bad. Please see Wikipedia for more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P%C3%BAca  
> 2\. Bassett's factory was founded in 1842 in Sheffield and made traditional sweets such as toffee and lemon bon bons.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:**  
>  I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

Dan and Una watched wistfully as a little group of boys pushed a cart with a misshapen figure made of old newspapers, rags and straw out the shop and down the village high street, calling out, “Pennies for the Guy.” Father had allowed them to contribute, even provided _extra_ pennies for them to hand to Hobden’s son who appeared to have organised the procession; but they had not been allowed to help make the Guy, still less to push him round asking for contributions to buy the fireworks. 

“Pontefract cakes and humbugs again, or would you like some jelly babies this week, young Sir,” asked old Mr Carter, who was minding the shop. It was a good distraction; Dan turned back to the weighty decision of how to spend his weekly allowance. But Una, even as she chose sherbet dabs and lemon bon bons, still felt very hard done by. She had recognised some old threadbare trousers she had worn under her skirt on rambles in the forest in previous years. She’d wondered where they had disappeared this summer just past. Mother had just told her she had grown too old to climb trees. She never said she planned to give _away_ Una’s old play clothes. 

Back home an hour later, Cook sent them out with a basket to pick blackberries. 

“Mind you don’t pick me any sour ones,” she admonished, “All Hallows Eve is just about as late as I’d dare for blackberries. Be careful now just to pick the good fruits - I don’t want no berries the Phooka’s spat on.” 

“Phooka?” asked Una of Hobden who was sitting on a bench just outside the kitchen door sharpening knives. “What’s a Phooka?” 

“One of them Pharisees,” he replied, “what’s steals the chestnuts and ruins any fruit it canna eat itself for sheer spite.” 

This left Una no further forward in making sense of Pookas but she blithely set out with her brother to scavenge along the hedgerows for late berries. The Autumn had been mild and, so far, no frost had ruined the last wild crops. 

They had half-filled the basket when a voice warned sharply, “Not that bush.” The children looked up to see Puck, perched in the branches of the chestnut tree. “The Phooka’s marked those for his own. 

“Phooka?” asked Dan. 

“One of the few left hereabouts,” replied Puck. “All your noise a-singing and a-skipping as you came down the lane scared him off; but come sit up here with me and be quiet and you’ll see. He’s not gone far.” 

Gladly the children scrambled up to the low crook formed where the truck of the tree forked into two. Sure enough, they had not long to wait. A white rabbit easily the size of a deerhound hopped out of the undergrowth opposite the chestnut tree and made a beeline for the bramble-bush Una had been just about to pick from when Puck had intervened. 

“He lives in an old badger run under Pook’s Hill,” whispered Puck. 

“But that’s _your_ hill,” exclaimed Una loudly. 

“Shhh!” Puck warned. 

But it was too late. The Phooka had heard and, looking up, spied the children. He showed his teeth with a wide and menacing grin, bounded toward them, and hit out with his front paws, claws extended. 

“Ouch!” Dan exclaimed. “That _hurt!_ ” 

“Quick!” Puck ordered. “Give him the conkers you picked up along the way. He loves horse chestnuts and you can usually make a Phooka your friend if you feed him.” 

Dan wriggled until he could get his hands in his pockets and pull out the conkers. He handed one to the Phooka and threw the rest on the ground beneath the tree. 

“I have some bon bons,” offered Una hesitantly, bringing a packet out of her apron pocket.

“Not for him,” said Puck, “he’s strictly an English Phooka and only eats local produce; but I’ll have one, thank you very much.” His hand made a swift foray into Una’s bag of sweets. 

“I’m sure they’re English sweets,” Una said, looking confused. “We took a tour around Bassett's when we visited our aunt in Sheffield last year.” 

“But the lemons that flavour them don’t grow in England,” explained Puck. “Now if you were to offer him candied violets or some mint that would be another matter. He doesn’t usually venture this far; but all Phookas have a sweet tooth and cannot resist berries – or homegrown sugary confections.”

Puck jumped down landing lightly beside the Phooka. He seemed to confer briefly with him before he gestured to Dan to jump down and held up a hand to help Una down. He led the children a little way down the lane and pointed out a bush with beautiful dark juicy-looking berries. 

“Not those,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the hedgerow. “But these he’ll spare for you.” 

Una sat stripping the bush of berries, eating almost as many as she put in the basket. Dan roamed along the lane selecting more conkers, half of which went in his own pocket. The other half went to the Phooka, who, as he ate them, appeared to grow exponentially, his hair changing from snowy white to black. Finally, boy and Phooka sat down to play a game. Dan lost the rest of his finds to the Phooka, who grew an almost human-looking face with a wide grin and whooped for joy, before he gave a small handful back to the crestfallen child. 

"They do cheat," explained Puck. "Not _malevolently_ , but they enjoy a bit of mischief, and _love_ chestnuts."

Dan returned to the task of filling his basket with berries, joining Una in gorging on as many as he added to the growing collection. As dusk encroached on day, a fluffy paw reaching into her basket startled, and Una slipped and fell into the thorny brambles, spilling over half her berries. The Phooka disappeared in a sudden whirlwind of dust, oak and ash. 

As Dan helped Una to dust down her apron he consoled, “Never mind, we have plenty left for Cook to make blackberry crumble for pudding tonight.” 

And they made their weary way back home for tea.


End file.
